


put your faith where your doubt is (don't walk alone)

by clevermonkey93



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, First Time, Getting Together, Injured Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kissing, M/M, Sharing a Bed, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, idiots to lovers, mildly feral jaskier, no plot just smut, sass and grumbling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:00:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28153509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clevermonkey93/pseuds/clevermonkey93
Summary: "Geralt wouldn’t have argued back when the innkeeper told him there weren’t any rooms for his kind, but the bard was right next to him, snarling at the stockier man behind the bar that he'd better let them stay if he wanted his inn still standing in the morning. And that’s just what the bard would do."Geralt is injured. Jaskier is feral but caring. There was only one bed but it's not a surprise.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 292





	put your faith where your doubt is (don't walk alone)

They’re well into their fifth week travelling together, through awful weather, terrible inns and the witcher trying to walk off serious injuries after a hunt didn't go as planned, when all three seemed to happen at once.

Geralt wouldn’t have argued back when the innkeeper told him there weren’t any rooms for _his_ kind, but the bard was right next to him, snarling at the stockier man behind the bar that he'd _better let them stay if he wanted his inn still standing in the morning._ And that’s just what the bard would do.

Geralt just grit his teeth. Anymore and he wouldn’t be able to hide the pain from the wound below his ribs any longer. If Jaskier really knew how bad it was he probably wouldn’t have even asked for a room, just taken one of the keys hanging behind the bar.

“No fucking room my arse,” Jaskier grumbled as they ascended the creaking stairs, key in hand. “Half dozen keys hanging there and only three people at the bar.”

Geralt lets him grumble. Lets Jaskier usher him into the rented room, lets him just sit quietly –

“Oh, for Melitele’s sake, take the armour off first, I’d like to sleep without the warg guts everywhere even if you don’t care,” he chastised even as he started on the buckles of Geralt’s armour.

Barely five weeks, and the bard already knew how to get it off in the dark. He’d had to a couple of times actually.

“Leave it.”

Jaskier pointedly ignored the witcher as he methodically stripped him of his leathers. At least the bard had stopped stinking of fear and worry upon seeing the state of his companion’s return from this hunt. Just the scent of concern. It had taken several days for Geralt to recognise that scent for what it was, so long had it been since someone had felt concern for him.

“Hold still,” Jaskier instructed quietly as he pressed near the wound on Geralt’s abdomen, working out if it was a bandages or a stitches job. Or a potion job. Or a vodka job.

“Leave it, I’m fine,” Geralt snapped. Jaskier ignored him again. Silently – and when was he bard ever silent, fuck he really must be worried or just that pissed off – Jaskier decided it was bandages.

“You’re going to let me look after this,” Jaskier started in a tone that brokered no arguments, least of all from stubborn witchers. “And then you’re going to get into bed. And then you’re going to let me get in for once too because it’s cold as balls and all my clothes are either wet or covered in warg guts, thank you very much, or _both_.”

Geralt glared at the bard but let him carry on. As the moments passed, and Jaskier could see that he was helping, the tension left his shoulders visibly, and finally the relaxed scent of sandalwood and mint, with the barest hint of lavender, encompassed Geralt. He hummed contentedly.

“See, not so bad is it?” Jaskier patted the side of his face, oblivious. “Just rest, darling. I’ll get some ale and some food but I won’t be long.”

_Darling._ It had started on the third day of their traveling together. It wasn’t teasing, nor did Jaskier call everyone _darling_ or _dear heart_.

Geralt tipped over onto the bed rather than laid down, and he must have been more tired than he thought because the next thing he knew was Jaskier sat up next to him, a gentle hand running callused fingers through his hair while the bard drank from a mug.

“No ale downstairs worth drinking, but the wine isn’t awful,” Jaskier said softly.

Before Geralt could stir, Jaskier helped him sit up and then passed him the mug and what was left of a plate of crusty bread. Ah, it had probably been far too long since the bard's breakfast and Geralt didn’t always remember how often the human needed to eat.

While Geralt finished off the food and the mug of wine – guess they’re sharing as Jaskier only had so many hands to bring everything up and then get the door – Jaskier took to ridding himself of his clothes. Fuck, the bard was still damp and he would probably bitch about it all tomorrow.

“Now is this a don’t-touch-me night or a Jaskier-doesn’t-get-to-breathe night?” Jaskier asked lightly, this time teasing. Geralt just glared at him. He didn’t have to keep bringing up the time they’d woken in a camp off the beaten path to find the witcher curled protectively around the bard in their sleep. Jaskier definitely hadn’t minded.

“Just get in the bed,” Geralt muttered.

“Always a winning line,” Jaskier sang as he tucked in next to Geralt, bare as the witcher, both down to their shorts in a too-cold inn room.

“You’ve given in for far less,” Geralt snarked back. It had been a long time since anyone other than his brothers would snark and banter with him.

“Of course. I’ve given in for hand gestures,” Jaskier said. He didn’t let Geralt argue as he pulled the witcher’s arms around him and his chest to his back. “Just try to rest, darling.”

That should have been it.

As the bard slept, the sandalwood and mint and lavender scent drew Geralt closer and closer to sleep. Until that muskier smell, one that Geralt knew all too well since the first night in Jaskier's company, snuck its sneaky tendrils into Geralt’s senses.

“One fucking night, is that too much to ask?” He grit out.

Jaskier stirred slightly, hummed delicately and rolled over in his arms. “I can’t help it.”

Of course. He was young, human and _always_ dangerously horny. And completely unashamed.

Not that he wanted Jaskier embarrassed. Or nervous around him. But a little decorum would be nice.

Geralt rolled his eyes when Jaskier rutted gently against him. _That was new._

Probably sensing Geralt's surprise, Jaskier retreated and woke up a bit more.

“Sorry –” he cut off to yawn into Geralt’s sternum. “I can go –”

Geralt tugged him closer before the bard could retreat further, and closed his eyes at Jaskier's broken moan at the pressure.

“Want this?” was all he asked. He could sense if Jaskier was lying, or if the bard was scared again.

But nothing of the sort.

As soon as the question was out of his mouth, Jaskier’s lips were on his. Jaskier kissed him with a demanding urgency he wouldn’t have expected of the bard given the delicate and flowery way he worked through other young men and women throughout the cities they passed. But no, Jaskier barely let Geralt breathe between the almost violent way his mouth, tongue, _teeth_ took over Geralt’s.

All he could do was moan as Jaskier climbed astride him. The gentle rutting against him from before was long abandoned to the needy thrusting against him now. Jaskier panted into the kiss as he rubbed the hard line of his cock against Geralt's. Fuck, there was already a damp patch on the tip of it, brushing earnestly against the witcher’s stomach.

Geralt gripped Jaskier's hips firmly, stilling him long enough while he shoved their shorts out of the way. Damn human was going to end this before they even started. Not that it mattered for a witcher, he’d need a few before he was really satisfied, and honestly the bard was young so –

“Ah,” Jaskier cried out as Geralt wrapped a large hand around both their lengths. He was breathing so hard and his hips moved erratically as he tried to speed up and hold back at the same time. “Geralt!”

Gods. The sight of him sat up on him like this. If they never did this again, Geralt knew he’d think back to this for years to come. Jaskier practically glowed with the sweat and excitement, his dusky nipples pert within that tantalising canvas of hair. Geralt sat up, ignoring the pinching in his side from the healing injury, and bit down on one of those beautiful little buds.

“Ahhh,” the bard almost squeaked in either surprise or proximity to his pleasure. Or both. “Oohhh please tell me my pack is in reach,” Jaskier gasped.

He still had the wherewithal to look around the room and then curse colourfully as he yanked himself up from Geralt's lap. Geralt would have been annoyed if it weren’t for the stunning view of the bard bent over his bag, rounded arse bared for the witcher’s eyes only tonight.

He must have growled out loud, because when Jaskier turned back to him, half empty vial of oil in hand, a sultry smirk curved his mouth into a sinful dream.

“Tell me what you'd like, _darling_.”

Oh god. Geralt wouldn’t be able to hear that fucking endearment again from the bard without getting hard.

“Get back here,” he bit out, and reached an expectant hand forward for the oil.

Jaskier perched on him with challenge in his eyes, was about to snark back something for sure, but the sudden vice grip of Geralt’s hand on his cock cut him short.

“Ah!” It was probably too tight but Jaskier only thrust up into the hold.

“Don’t come,” Geralt instructed, and noted the way Jaskier’s flushed cheeks darkened considerably. “Not until I tell you,” he added, just to watch Jaskier's throat bob and feel his dick twitch.

Geralt held Jaskier’s eyes as he slowly released his dick. Both arms wrapped around the bard so he could only listen while Geralt fumbled with the oil behind him. With the first curious finger between his cheeks, Jaskier leaned forward with a little gasp to kiss Geralt again. Jaskier kissed how he wanted to be touched, his tongue firm and searching against Geralt’s lips as the witcher’s first and then two fingers spread him apart. By the time Jaskier was desperately riding the three digits buried to the knuckles, he couldn’t keep kissing, just panting and crying out against Geralt's mouth.

Geralt looked down between them. Jaskier's poor ruddy length twitched desperately against their stomachs with every movement and the witcher delighted in the way it jumped when he curled his fingers.

“Ah, ah, Geralt,” Jaskier gasped out. His hands on Geralt’s shoulders clenched and pinched, maybe bruising for a short time, and Jaskier suddenly bit down sharply on Geralt’s collarbone. “Please.”

He did want to see how long Jaskier could hold out, but Geralt was still just a man. He lifted Jaskier up, said nothing about the hitch in his breath as he did so, and slowly sunk the bard into his cock. He carefully watched the story of _newnewnewperfect_ sweep across Jaskier’s brow and only when he felt the desperate little shakes as Jaskier tried to get _more_ did Geralt lift him again.

Jaskier's eyes lit up at the realisation that Geralt was just going to move him as he wanted and only then did Geralt realise what fucking his barker meant. Jaskier almost screamed his pleasure, his trained tenor marking every time Geralt's dick rubbed into that spot inside. Jaskier wasn’t going to last long, and neither was Geralt with the shear noise he was making. He pulled Jaskier off and onto his cock at a wretched pace, chasing release, groaning at the quivering tightness and looking up at the bard in worship. Jaskier bit his lip, licked it, cried out and wailed over and over again, before gasping the beginnings of “ _please_ –”

“Go on,” Geralt permitted and without another touch, he felt the warm splashes of Jaskier spending on his stomach. Jaskier didn’t stop gasping though, and Geralt felt him suddenly find strength and urgency in his thighs as Jaskier determinedly rode him off the edge.

Geralt clenched his teeth on a groan as he spilled inside the bard, panting as Jaskier just kept moving, ripping everything from him and more. Geralt fell back against the bed as Jaskier continued to rut on him, a filthy mockery of the sleepy urges that started this whole mess. Geralt lost count of the times Jaskier pulled ecstasy from him, only stopping when the witcher dragged him to his chest with a final sigh of exhaustion.

It had been a long time since he’d felt that sort of exhaustion.

Gods, what a mess.

“Enough?” Jaskier purred and that his voice was almost shot was a testament to how loudly he’d screamed his pleasure. Even after what he’d put his body though, he still had the gall to tease Geralt.

Geralt Hmmed, disentangled them and ignored Jaskier’s protests over the mess. From the way the bad had cried out, regardless of the innkeeper and other patrons of the inn, Geralt doubted Jaskier cared much about leaving bedding that would probably need to be burned.

“Just sleep,” he told Jaskier, letting his eyes fall shut.

“Please tell me we can sleep in,” Jaskier whined, already bratty. “I’ve got more ideas.”

Geralt opened one eye to enjoy the renewed pink to his bard’s cheeks.

“Hmmm.”

**Author's Note:**

> title from don't walk alone by Callum Beattie
> 
> There may end up being a series of plotless smut entitled with far too lovely song lyrics.


End file.
